Neighbors – you gotta love…nope, nope, I can’t.

Something happened this weekend that I can’t decide if I think is funny. Or gross. Or funny. Or icky. You decide.

Some background:
We have semi-new neighbors living next door. They moved in 6 months or so ago I guess. Two families live there – two brothers, their wives, and assorted kids (all boys), ranging in age from 16-ish to about 18 months. One of the wives has another one on the way. At the moment, we are talking 9 people in a five bedroom house. That doesn’t count the cat that looks terrified every time I see it, and the two dogs perpetually tied up out back, yelping their brains out pretty much 24/7 (one of which they acquired by renting a car, driving to CALIFORNIA and buying from some lady on the Internet). For all I know, there is a Grandma tied up in the basement and another family living in the garage/shed. Did I mention they have a hive of bees too? They like to put on beekeeper headdresses, sit in lawn chairs and read “BeeKeeping for Idiots” whilst staring at the hive.

But I digress.

(I should add that as I type this, one of the kids is outside making what can only be described as an attempt to sound like a police siren when the battery is dying – sort of a sad, but awfully annoying, “whoop, whoop, whoop” which is punctuated every few times by someone yelling “IN THE NAME OF THE LAWWWWWWWWWW”)

Anyhoo….my twins and two of the boys (about 9 or 10 years old each) are sitting outside underneath our tree, appearing to play quietly with Pokemon stuff. (Pokemon being the spawn of the devil but that’s another story for another time. I don’t know what drunk idiots came up with that concept , but I guess they are rich drunk idiots, so there you go). Out of the blue, I hear one of the boys say “I LOVE big fat boobs.”

Um, say what WHAT?

To which one of my twins says “We don’t have those.”

Not yet kiddo, not yet.

So, being the responsible parent I am, I march out and proceed to give said brats, I mean kids, a lecture on the use of the “b” word and how I don’t want to hear them talking about it in my yard anymore. “Oh, okay, yeah, okay.”

Flash forward five minutes.

I see one of my twins running around in a section of the yard previously off limits because it’s our garden staging area. I ask her what she’s doing and she tells me that she is running from one of the boys who is “trying to touch her boobs.”

Um, say what what, part two.

Immediately the kid’s cousin throws him under the bus by saying, “yep, that’s what he was doing.” Which comes out sounding like “heppzatsuthe’zduing” because this one has been cursed by a speech impediment that sounds like he is gargling with gravel. Meanwhile, the petite pervert is booking it towards his own house when I stop him to give him a speech about how inappropriate his actions are (although I threw in the word “dude” because after all, I am cool) and how if he does it again he can’t come over.

Sigh.

The problem here is that I didn’t hear the pint sized potential pedo-okay, okay, I’ll stop - actually commit the crime so I’m not feeling like I have a leg to stand on with his parents. Who I’m sure will just tell me “oh, you know, boys will be boys.”

This is the same excuse I got when their toddler wandered over to my yard. Alone. Three times.

“Oh, you know, you’re right. Boys will be boys. But if boys will be boys again, my girls will be girls and kick them in the nu…” – you use your imagination there.

I don’t know what it is about this particular house. Every since we moved in, there have been freaks living there.

Family #1 – during our housewarming party, I come into my front room to see several guests staring out our side window in fascination. Turns out the teenage girl is chucking every article of clothing she owns out of the top window and screaming at her mom. This girl also liked to practice walking like a supermodel up and down the street. She took a little "vacation" just before they sold the house.

Family #2 – salesman, his Russian girlfriend and his cousin. To their credit, they did a ton of work in the inside, restoring some of the original woodwork that came with the house. But then negated it by chipping paint off the outside of the house using hair dryers and sticks. The salesman was divorced, and had his son over about every other weekend. This son would come over at 7:00 in the morning on weekends in his pajamas, asking if Noah could play. We’d ask him where his dad was and he’d say “oh, still asleep.” This kid also told me that "John Kerry sucks."

Family #3 – also two families living together, this time two sisters, the one sister’s husband and five kids between them. This family foreclosed but not before one kid fell off the slide in our backyard, the dad got a girlfriend and the one mom refused to come outside to our block party, preferring instead to call in her order from the potluck to her husband outside. They also refused to pay for garbage pickup, and would instead rent a U-haul every 6 months or so (that’s right, SIX) and haul garbage themselves out of the garage to the dump.

Now, family #4. These boob-lovers have a bag full of soda cans in the backyard that looks like what you pick up after an outdoor music festival, about 5 cars (I think 2 actually work), the bee-hives, the wandering toddler….the list goes on and on.

Bradys? Where are you when we need you? Cleavers, the Beav, hell, I’d even take Roseanne Conner at this point.